It's been almost three years since the Norwegian Nobel Committee awarded its peace prize to Shirin Ebadi, a petite lawyer and activist from Tehran. The honor created a stir around the world -- Ebadi was both the first Iranian and the first Muslim woman to win the accolade, which goes to the person who has done "the most or the best work for fraternity between the nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses."

In Tehran, tens of thousands of people -- many of whom carried signs featuring Ebadi's image -- crowded the streets to welcome her home from Paris, where she'd been when the award was announced.

Ebadi was a hero. She still is to many Iranians, but in her new book, "Iran Awakening: A Memoir of Revolution and Hope," and in a phone interview last week with Insight, Ebadi emphasized her displeasure at hero-worshiping. She doesn't want people to think of her as a savior who will single-handedly bring about more women's rights in Iran, or broker peace between Iran and the United States.

What Ebadi has done since 2003 is what she did before the world knew her name: Represent victims and their families in Iran's cruel legal system, and advocate for peace wherever she can.

Her Nobel has given her bigger platforms -- she regularly speaks in the United States and other countries, and on Tuesday, will be in San Francisco for a City Arts and Lectures appearance -- and bigger expectations among her admirers.

"Iranian culture likes heroes," Ebadi said in an from New York, before flying to San Francisco. "And, of course, people like (to have) a hero capable of solving their problems overnight, but obviously that's not possible. Ever since I won the Nobel Prize, I've been telling people that this approach to heroes is not correct. I myself don't believe in it. And actually, this is precisely what pushes certain governments to become dictatorial."

Iranian history is full of revered figures who put themselves on a pedestal (and encouraged others to do the same), she said, citing Reza Shah, the Iranian monarch and former military leader who used a coup to gain power in the 1920s, then abdicated in favor of his son in 1941. "When he took power," Ebadi said in Farsi through an interpreter, "he immediately said he would turn Iran into a republic, and that he would become a president, but this culture of hero and loving heroes made him into a shah and later on a dictator."

Even though she rejects elevation into the ranks of a hero, Ebadi can do things few other Iranians can, such as publicizing human-rights abuses in Iran without worrying about deadly retribution from the government. Before winning a Nobel, Ebadi had been targeted for death by rogue elements within Iran's government -- in her memoir, she describes seeing her name on a murder list while doing research into another case -- but her fame has given her a kind of protective shield, and the government has assigned her 24-hour-a-day bodyguards. Tehran's leaders still shun her.

"My relationship with the government has never changed," she said. "I never had any relationship with the government. The situation is exactly the same as before. And you should know that when they organize some scientific seminars, I'm never invited to them. They never let me go."

With her memoir, written with journalist Azadeh Moaveni (the author of "Lipstick Jihad"), Ebadi takes a cultural jab at Iran's religious restrictions for women, who are required to wear head scarves known as hijab. The cover of "Iran Awakening" shows Ebadi with hijab, but in a prominent photo on the back cover, she is without a scarf. Inside the book, Ebadi's two daughters are also pictured with hijab and without.

"Through these photos, I tried to make a statement about the situation of women in Iran," she says. "For women, wearing head scarves ... is the law. If you (must go without a head scarf), you will be punished. Had it not been a question of legal punishment and being forced to wear it, I'm sure the majority of women would opt not to wear it. Just like me. I don't like to wear it when I go out."

To those who see Ebadi only in reverential terms, it will be shocking to know that some Iranians believe she does too little to pressure Iran's government to change repressive policies. On the English-language Web site for news and blogs on Iran, www.iranian.ws/, a handful of readers skewer Ebadi, calling her an apologist for Tehran's religious authorities. At a press conference last month in Paris, Ebadi defended Iran's right to nuclear energy, and -- addressing the prospect of a U.S.-led war against Iran -- was quoted as saying, "We will not allow an American soldier to set foot (in Iran). We will defend our country till the last drop of blood."

In her interview with Insight, Ebadi defends her approach to activism and engagement with Iran's leaders, saying, "We all have our own way of acting. I am a human rights activist. I'm not a party leader, and I'm not an opposition leader. Therefore, my way of acting is different from others."

Speaking about Iran's capacity to make nuclear energy or weapons, she says, "My conviction is that no country needs any nuclear weapons. Iran does not need them. No other country in the world needs them. These weapons don't produce any happiness for humanity." To calm the situation between Washington and Tehran, she advocates talks between President Bush and Iranian president Ahmadinejad, and face-to-face discussions between members of Congress and the Iranian parliament, called the Majlis. Of a Bush-Ahmadinejad meeting, she says, "if we want to get rid of the problem, we should think of direct negotiations."

That's the latest thinking from the woman the Norwegian Nobel Committee awarded its coveted Peace Prize.

In her own words

Excerpts From Shirin Ebadi's "Iran Awakening: A Memoir of Revolution and Hope"

On supporting the 1979 Iranian Revolution:

"I found myself drawn to the opposition voices that hailed Ayatollah Khomeini as their leader. It seemed in no way a contradiction for me -- an educated, professional woman -- to back an opposition that cloaked its fight against real-life grievances under the mantle of religion. Faith occupied a central role in our middle-class lives, though in a quiet, private way."

On losing her judgeship after the Revolution:

"The men of the purging committee didn't even offer me a seat. They sat behind a wooden table. Two of them were judges I knew well, one of whom until the previous year had been my junior. I stubbornly kept standing, my hands grasping a seat back; I was six months pregnant, and I wondered whether they would at least be decent enough to suggest I sit down. One of them picked up a sheet of paper and rudely tossed it toward me across the table. ... I was being demoted to a clerk, a paper pusher, a typist."

On being told she'd won the Nobel Peace Prize:

"On the other end of the line, a man introduced himself as calling from the Nobel Prize committee. He asked me to stay near the phone for some important news. Assuming that one of my friends was playing a prank, I put down the receiver impatiently."